


Face the Sun and Fall

by Solemini (SoleminiSanction)



Series: Dick Tim Week 2019 [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Dom/sub, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flogging, Icarus Metaphors, M/M, Misuse of Alien Technology, Mutual Pining, Private Aftercare, Public Sex, This is Your Fandom on Kink, Vibrators, Wing Kink, power perversion potential
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoleminiSanction/pseuds/Solemini
Summary: Dick and Tim get sent undercover at an exclusive BDSM pleasure cruise for decadent kinksters looking to live their fantasies 24/7. To fulfill the mission, they'll need to catch their target's attention. A good show and some alien technology should do just the trick.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Dick Grayson
Series: Dick Tim Week 2019 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571137
Comments: 7
Kudos: 78
Collections: Dick Tim Week 2019





	Face the Sun and Fall

**Author's Note:**

> DickTim Week Day 3 -- Fake Relationship/Ocean
> 
> Chapter One is just a toe in the water. The rest of this fic will go full-tilt kinky so be prepared!

The _MS Dionysia_ sets off from Bayonne under cover of twilight. Though she looks from the outside like any other cruise liner, her departure for the open Atlantic is oddly subdued. There are no well-wishers on the docks, no farewell blast of her horn. Even port authority barely spares her a second glance. Her owners had paid handsomely for discretion, after all. 

Tim spends the launch in their stateroom, lying flat with a cool washcloth over his eyes. He’s not seasick. He doesn’t get seasick. He just needs to steel his nerves before facing their fellow passengers and what they all came here to do.

There’s a knock on the door, then the sound of a key. Tim sits up to meet Dick as he enters. Somehow, despite the layers that both conceal Dick’s appearance and guard against the mid-autumn chill, he still manages to look dashing as he removes his aviators and flashes Tim a grin.

“Feeling better?”

“Better enough. What’s it like out there?”

“The crowd dispersed the minute we cast off.” Dick sets the glasses on a bed stand and starts to pull off his leather jacket. “Festivities begin with dinner. That gives us about ninety minutes.”

His shirt slides up, revealing an inch of perfect, golden abs. Tim forces his eyes away. “Guess I’d better change then.” 

Dick frowns, like he can read Tim’s anxiety and wants to offer him an out. He’s done so twice before, but it’s much too late now. They can’t exactly jump ship and there are innocent lives at stake.

Tim could step into the bathroom, but under the circumstances he doesn’t see the point. Instead, he faces the tiny closet and begins to strip. Even with his back turned, he’s hyper-aware of Dick’s presence. The thought of being watched as pulls off his shirt and starts work on his jeans gives him a pleasant thrill, right up until he hears the zipper on a suitcase slide open. 

Stupid. Of course Dick needs to change too. Like he would ever want to watch Tim. 

He waits until he hears the bathroom slide closed and the shower running before shedding his final layers and slipping into what passes for this mission’s costume: a pair of skintight, black leather shorts with zippers in both the front and back. Sliding into them the first time feels surreal; he’s so used to spandex and kevlar that the stiff confinement of leather is like sliding on a brand-new skin.

Step two is adding a set of matching leather cuffs — each with sturdy silver rings and lined with a soft padding — to his wrists and ankles. There’s a collar, too, but when he gets to it he lingers. 

He…He wants _Dick_ to put that on him. Wants to feel his warm fingers pulling the leather tight and gently checking for comfort. Wants to hear the latch click shut, hear the key turn, and know that he is wanted, that he is owned, that he belongs to—

He snatches the collar and puts it on before those thoughts can run away with him. Then, he sits in front of the vanity and starts going over his equipment. Bare as he is, there isn’t much room to hide supplies, but the collar does contain a wireless microphone and comm unit, while the wrist-cuffs each conceal a single-use taser and the ankles hold two smoke pellets each. His only reusable weapon is the garrote hidden in his waistband, which isn’t ideal, but he’s resigned to work with it. After all, he’s playing the bait here. 

He’s just finished double-checking the mic’s wireless feed to his laptop when a warm hand brushes his shoulder, startling out a gasp. From behind him, Dick softly laughs. “Sorry, baby. You good?”

Tim gulps, but manages a soft, steady, “Yeah,” despite how that husky nickname leaves his mouth dry. Dick is already in-character, smelling of Irish Spring and vanilla cologne, his skin still warm from the shower. It’s enough to make Tim strain against the confines of his shorts. 

“Ready for your wings?” Dick’s reflection flashes Tim another charming smile. He’s in black slacks and a rich blue button down, the top two undone. Tim looks naked beside him; which is, of course, the point. He nods. 

Dick steps away then, to retrieve the harness from its dedicated bag. Leather straps with a cool, flexible metallic lining slip on over Tim’s shoulders, framing his chest and supporting a flat, featureless metal disk, which hooks everything in place. It hangs against his chest not unlike the sigil of his old Red Robin gear. When tapped, it warms and automatically adjusts all the straps to a tight yet comfortable fit. 

“Now the mask,” says Dick, and that’s all the warning Tim gets before his vision goes black. His breath catches and, for a moment, he’s hyper-focused on the brush of Dick’s fingers against the back of his neck. Then, Dick finishes tying off the mask and removes the velcro patch that makes it a blindfold, allowing Tim to see. 

He breathes again, a silent sigh of relief. The patch goes into Dick’s pocket, for later. The thought makes Tim’s heart skip a beat. 

Quickly, he feels along the sides of his face and locates the twin diodes hidden within the mask. He presses them to his temples, where they stick and, like the disk, warm slightly as they come online. A few bright sparks flash across his vision as the advanced computers within make contact with his brain. 

A moment later, his wings come to life. 

The rig is bastardized Thanagarian flight technology, reverse-engineered from scraps procured off various black markets at a great expense to the less-than-reputable Gotham business behind the project. It contains no Nth metal, and is therefore incapable of flight; yet, the mind-link technology designed for prosthetic limbs offers a full range of movement and the engineers spared no expense in making them as close as possible to the real thing. The feathers are synthetic, soft and glossy in an iridescent red, and the mental connection comes with limited tactile feedback that allows the user to perceive their touch. 

And all of it, all the miracles of science, turned to the service of a bleeding-edge sex toy. The finest in fantasy fetish gear. 

Tim rolls his shoulders, opening and closing the wings a few times just to be sure the mind-link is fully established. There’s not a lot of space in the stateroom — the constant struggle of being on a ship — so even though the wings are small, less than half the size of the Hawks’, he can’t risk the full wingspan without breaking something. Still, he’s able to spread them enough that they take up the whole width of the mirror, and draw an appreciative whistle from Dick. 

“Look at you,” he coos, stroking the leading edge of the left wing. Tim feels it only faintly, as if on a phantom limb, but it tingles pleasantly all the same. “So pretty, baby bird. My pretty little robin.”

 _Don’t call me that,_ Tim thinks, but won’t dare let himself say. _Not like this. Not like you want me. Not when you’re so warm. I’ll fall, Dick. You’ll burn me. And I’ll plunge straight into the sea._

Instead, he pulls the wings back into a resting position and smiles tentatively up through his bangs. “Think it makes for a good show?”

“Absolutely. You’ll knock ‘em dead.” With a final confident wink, Dick pulls on his own mask — a plain black half-face that covers his cheekbones and holds back his long bangs — before hooking a leash to the silver ring on Tim’s collar. His fingers brush Tim’s throat and snag his breath. Their touch is gone faster than blinking. 

“Ready?”

_To spend a week **pretending** to be your sub? Never._

“Sure. I mean…yes, sir.”

This mission is going to be hell. 


End file.
